Unloved Unclaimed Unbound

Chapter Eleven – Serenya

The call ends and I take a moment to take a deep breath, close my eyes and exhale to calm the anxiety that has flared in my chest. I take one more breath, release it and open my eyes.

Isolde is still standing at my bedroom door; she had her auburn hair French braided. She steps closer, “I didn’t mean for your call to end.”

“No, you’re fine, we were done anyway.” I reply. I nod my head at her schoolbook, “Whatcha need?”

Isolde ducks her head and beings kicking her foot back and forth. She is hesitant. “I wasn't meaning to bother you; I just would like to see if I could – get some help.”

I give a small smile, which seems to be my default, and motion her to come in. “You aren’t bothering me. Again, whatcha need?”

She shuffles in, closing the door softly behind her. “It’s for English. We are supposed to write about the main theme of The Outsiders, but I don’t get it. Everyone keeps saying it’s about class and violence, but my teacher said it’s about identity? Or something.” She makes a helpless face, “I just think it is sad.”

I chuckle. “That’s fair. It IS sad. But your teacher’s not wrong either. You want to talk through it?”

Isolde nods eagerly, sitting cross-legged on my bed. I get up from the desk chair and sit on the hope chest at the foot of the bed. She hands me the book, and I take it, flipping through it. Finding that she has dog-eared a page. I glance up at her, she grimaces. I tsk at her. Though it is also a very worn book. I look back at the page. It is the scene where Johnny tells Ponyboy to ‘stay gold.’

“This line,” I tap the page. “This line right here. That’s the theme. It’s about holding on to the parts of yourself that are pure—the parts that the world hasn’t broken yet.”

Isolde frowns, about to chew on the end of her pencil, thinks better of it and taps her cheek. “But Johnny...”

I cut her off, “Let’s not get to that yet. Some readers may not have read the book, let’s not give too many spoilers.” She rolls her eyes, but the frown is no longer there. “Even then, he wants Ponyboy to stay kind. To not let the world change who he is. That’s what makes it so powerful.”

She looked up at me, something clicking in her eyes as the little gears in her head move. “So... even when life is awful, you can still be good?”

I smile slightly. “Exactly.”

For a moment, she just nodded, quietly thoughtful. Then, as I am slowly finding out must be a thing for Isolde, she blurts, “You talk like my... tutor.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” she said, laughing. “All mysterious and calm. Like you’ve been through, like, everything and still come out wise.”

I just stare at her. “You realize why I am here right? Sure, I’m mysterious to you, you are quite the conundrum yourself to me. But I am anything but calm. I am also not sure about wise.”

Isolde put her elbow on her knee and lay her chin on her fist. “You kind of are though. You’re helping me. Thank you.”

“It’s called patience.” I reply but look away toward the window. Her simple words caught me off guard. Not because of what she said, but by how sincere she looked saying it. I’d spent so long around people who looked right through me. That I’m not sure what to do with someone who actually saw me. “Thanks, I think. And my pleasure.”

--

I had been skimming through The Outsiders while Isolde wrote her essay outline. She occasionally asked for the book back to find something and nod her head, before handing the book back to me. The last time she needed it, she looks and skims the dog-eared page, sets the book beside her and scribbles on her paper. Isolde looks over her essay and reads aloud, “Maybe staying gold just means not forgetting who you are—even when people try to tell you who to be.”

“You’ve got a writer’s heart, Isolde. That is beautiful.” I say softly.

She beams. “You really think so?”

I hum. “I know so.”

She breaks out in biggest smile. “Thank you, Serenya!” She begins to gather her things. “Thank you so much!”

The room seemed warmer somehow. I look back at my bed; Isolde left the book. I reach over and pick it up. Tracing my finger over the words ‘stay gold.’

My room was now still again—the hum of the house filling the quiet spaces between my thoughts. I close the book, sliding off the hope chest. On impulse, I crossed my room and opened my door just as Isolde reached her own across the hall.

“Isolde?” I called.

She turned, her braid swinging. “Yeah?”

I hesitate—feeling nervous—before finally saying, “Do you... want to watch The Outsiders? The movie?”

She blinked, thinking it over, then tilted her head. “I didn’t know there was a movie. Sure. Who is in it?”

I start counting on my fingers and a smile starts to play on my lips as I list the actors. “Patrick Sawzye, Rob Lowe, Tom Cruise, Emilio Estevez...”

Her brows furrowed. “Sounds fun. But... who’s Patrick Swayze?”

My smile falters, my soul is gone. “You don’t know who Patrick Swayze is?”

She shakes her head, popping her ‘p’ as she says, “Nope.” She sets her school things in her room, then coming to me to retrieve The Outsiders book.

I still trying to recover my soul, when another voice comes in at the end of the hall—amused. “Serenya, you do know you and I are too young to even know who he is,” Elyria said as she appeared in an oversized hoodie. “He died ages ago.”

“Two thousand nine,” I counter, slightly defensive. “That's not ages ago.” I hold onto my biceps, suddenly self-conscious. “I just… happen to like a lot of his movies.”

Elyria smile faintly. “We,” pointing between the two of us, “were still in diapers. Isolde wasn't even a thought yet.” Isolde looks insulted. “So, guilty pleasure? Era classics?”

I hum to myself, brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear, before letting out a chuckle. “More like nostalgia. It was the one-time Linda, and I actually used to do together—sit down and watch Patrick Sawzye or Tom Selleck movies.” The admission came shifter than intended. “I guess it's the only good memory I have of Linda.”

Elyria’s expression softens, thoughtful. “I’m guessing that’s no longer the case?”

I shake my head. “Not for a very long time.”

For a moment, she just stands there—the nods as if she's made a silent decision. “Okay,” she straightens. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Find The Outsiders on a streaming app or rent it and then pick a Tom Selleck movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

Isolde perks up instantly, practically bouncing. “Three Men and a Baby!”

I laugh, the sound escaping before I could stop it and it seemed to take us all by surprise, I cough. “At least you know Tom Selleck, but I was thinking Her Alibi.”

Elyria gave me a knowing grin. “A double feature it is, then.”

“Wait!” Isolde steps closer, eyes pleading. “Do we get blankets too?”

“Of course,” Elyria replied. “No movie night is complete without cocooning in fuzzy blankets.”

I smiled inwardly, I could feel warmth bloom in my chest—not from the idea of the movies, but the way Isolde said ‘we.’ It wasn’t a performance. For the first time in a long time I think, I had a small kernel of belonging. Which concerned me. Because how long would it last? How long before their curtains fell and their facade crumbled? How long before they also treated me like Linda and Glen?

--

How did I miss this room while walking through the estate? I have passed it so many times, yet I don’t recall opening the door. I stare in awe of the in-home theater surrounding me. The smell of melted butter beings to fill the space as I walk to where Isolde is arranging the blankets in the middle of the room, where this enormous couch that has been converted into an Alaskan King with the addition of the ottomans. Isolde was fluffing pillows when Elyria appeared with a massive bowl of popcorn.

Isolde began to stack the pillows in what resembles a lopsided fortress on the couch. I heard a crackle behind her, on the left side of the room. Looking around her was a fireplace. Exactly how many fireplaces does this estate have? But despite the massive expanse of the Dravenholt estate, it doesn’t feel intimidating right now.

Isolde was already flipping through the streaming menu with deadly concentration. “There! The Outsiders! Found it!” She exclaimed, her finger dramatically hovering over the play button on the laptop screen.

Elyria sat down beside Isolde with the popcorn nestled in her lap, looked up at me and pat the cushion next to her. I walked around and sat. Nervousness coursed through me being this close. We were still essentially strangers. “Isolde, try not to get butter on the blankets again, it leaves an awful stain.”

Isolde pressed play and looked at her sister offended. “That was one time! What is it with this family and teasing me about these small little things?”

Elyria and I chuckle. I re-position myself to sit cross legged. “Will Mr. Dravenholt be upset that we are doing this on a school night?”

Elyria raises her eyebrow. “I don’t think Daddy will mind, especially since this movie is in correlation to the book. I’m sure Isolde will have no problem pointing out the differences of what is or is not in the book.” She gives Isolde a side eye.

Isolde shrugs and looks at me. I point to my chest and give her the 2 fingers and smile. She tilts her head, “Huh?”

I laugh, “I was trying to be discreet.” I did the motion again. “Me too. Meaning I do the same thing.”

“Oh...” Isolde says and giggles. “Imma use that.”

The opening credits began, and Isolde gasped at the first scene. “Wait--they’re all so young!”

Elyria snorted. “This movie is older than all of us combined. Wait... yea. It’s older than us.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’ll see. It’s a classic.”

Isolde rolled her eyes and Elyria gestured to the big screen. “Obviously!” they said together. Our attention went back to the big screen, and we were all drawn in—Elyria had moved the popcorn bowl to sit in front of her while she positioned herself on her stomach and her head was propped up on the palms of her hands. Isolde was indeed whispering to herself, at least, the differences between what was and wasn’t in the book.

I felt something twist within myself when Johnny whispered, “Stay gold, Ponyboy.” Reading the line and hearing it just did something and this time, tonight, it didn’t ache. I placed my hand on my chest over my heart. What am I feeling?

“Okay,” Elyria said bringing me out of my thoughts as the credits rolled and sniffed dramatically. “I’m blaming you both for this emotional damage.”

Isolde threw a kernel at her. “You cried!”

“You did too!”

I smiled. “Alright,” I said as stretch. “Round Two? Her Alibi or Three Men and a Baby?”

“Yes! Three Men and a Little Baby!” Isolde cheers, “I’m going to go get something to drink, do you want anything El? How about you Serenya?”

“Water is fine.” Elyria says as she sits back onto her butt stretching.

“Same.” I reply.

Elyria watches after Isolde and smiles. “Thank you Serenya.”

I look at her, “For what?”

Elyria shook her head and smiled. “Maybe we make this a weekly thing, movie night. Perhaps not on a Monday though.”

I smile, though still confused why she thanked me. “Yeah. I think that would be nice.”

--

Elyria and Isolde had passed out before the movie was to the halfway point, and I was drifting. I could still hear the lines and Tom Selleck’s voice. But something tickled my nose. It was a familiar smell.

“Well, let me get these girls to bed. We will talk about this more tomorrow.” Mr. Dravenholt’s voice cut through the actor who played Jack’s lines. A muffled voice replies, and I vaguely hear footsteps come closer.

I crack open my eyes. “Mr. Dravenholt?

“Hello there Serenya.” He says softly as he walks behind the couch. Taps pause on the laptop. “Hello, my darling girls,” he places a hand on each cheek, Elyria and Isolde make faces. Isolde tries to push his hand away. He chuckles. “Come along girls, you both need to get into your own beds.” They huff out frustrated sleepy grunts and get up to leave. Isolde dragging one of the throw blankets with her.

I rub my eyes and yawn. “Thank you Serenya.” Mr. Dravenholt says softly.

“Hmm?” I grumble as I stand to face him. “Elyria also said thank you. Why are y’all thanking me?” I grimace, I did not mean for that to come out as frustratingly mean... “I’m sorry.”

Mr. Dravenholt regards me for a moment. “Isolde was young, she does not remember the days where their mother would do movie nights. We are very busy and do not get many days we can sit down for extended periods of time other than breakfast and dinner.” He looks to the door of the theater. “So, what you did tonight, means more to us than you will ever realize.”

“Elyria is the one who suggested it.” I say scratching my arm and look toward the door as well. “She deserves credit.”

I see that his attention is back on me. His gaze contemplative. I look back at him, I’m expecting my body to be uncomfortable under his gaze, but I’m not. He isn’t judging me. He isn’t...

My throat tightens as my emotions begin to rage in a torrent. I clear my throat to try to dislodge the tightness. But my voice betrays me and cracks with emotions I fail to hide. “I should go to bed. Goodnight Mr. Dravenholt.”